Death By Water by Torkil Damhaug

understands.

3
     
Friday 12 December
     
    I T WAS COLD in the studio. She’d mentioned it as soon as she arrived, but Wim said it was supposed to be like that. So that her nipples would be stiff under the soft material of the bra. He was well wrapped up in a padded combat jacket.
    Liss crossed her legs and leant in towards the camera.
    – Not like that, Wim groaned. – It looks like you need a piss.
    – That’s exactly what I need, she answered without changing her expression.
    – Hold that. Right there, the hip out to the side. Let the bra strap slip down your shoulder … shit , that’s it … nearly.
    Her trousers were tossed away over by the wall, but for the third time since arriving she heard the phone vibrating in her pocket. Wim had insisted she turn off the ringtone before they started. A real artist, she thought meanly.
    – Hello, Wim yelled. – Planet earth calling Miss Liss. You look totally vacant. Get that hip out to the side, let’s see the elastic of your knickers. Yes, that’s exactly what I told you, not your hip bone, the edge of your knickers, that’s what I want, come over here, yes, arms by your sides, follow me, imagine you’re going to stamp on me, like that, yes. Piss, you said; imagine you’re trampling on me and pissing on me, yes, there’s the look I’ve been waiting for all day. Follow me now, hate me, imagine you’ve got me on the ground, do what you want with me.
    She shuddered at the thought of having Wim lying on the floor beneath her. Of him wriggling out of his leather trousers and lying there with his dick in the air. And she was supposed to try to look as if this was an image that would make her feel horny. The only thing she felt was how badly she needed a piss.
    – I really just have to have one minute on the toilet, she said, and straightened up.
    – Can’t you hold on? You must have a bladder the size of a mouse’s.
    He sniggered; he liked to talk about her body, mostly what was inside it. But he was the best she’d worked with. And he wouldn’t start groping her. Even if she never met Zako again, Wim knew he’d get his liver punched up into his throat if he ever tried it on.
    She grabbed her jeans, slipped into the toilet and groaned with relief when she was able to open up and let it flow freely. At least three litres.
    Afterwards she took the phone out of her pocket. She was startled when it vibrated again, like a little animal that woke at her touch. For the third time that day the unknown number showed up in her display. It started with the Norwegian prefix: 0047. She gave in and answered.
    – Liss? This is Viljam.
    – Viljam? she said, almost dismissively, even though she knew who he was.
    – I’ve never met you, he explained. – But I’m sure Mailin has talked about us.
    Of course Mailin had talked about him. They’d been a couple for more than two years. Liss had heard his name mentioned many times but had never taken the trouble to remember it. For some reason or other she didn’t like the thought of her sister living with someone.
    – Are you in Amsterdam?
    He was well spoken. Liss knew he’d studied law and was about the same age as her.
    – Why do you ask? She didn’t want to continue the conversation, but understood there had to be a reason why the guy was calling. Why he’d called three times. The first time at six in the morning. Suddenly she felt a damp chill across her whole body. She looked in the mirror; her pupils were distended. You are not afraid, she thought. You are never afraid, Liss Bjerke.
    – Did you call early this morning? Is it about Mailin?
    Viljam didn’t answer at first, and that cold chill fastened itself tighter around her. She slumped down on to the toilet seat. She’d had a message from her sister the previous afternoon, one she didn’t understand, or didn’t want to understand. She had deliberately not called back.
    – I don’t know, he said finally. – She talked about getting in touch with you